The hands that mould us

Are both tender and harsh.
Nurturing and scolding.
Encouraging and demoralizing.
Sometimes intentional. Often random.
Our stories are made possible as much
By the people that have loved us
As by those that hurt us.
Some hands wiped away our tears
And caressed our cheek in a tender kiss,
Awakening us to the steadying affection of human touch.
And then there are hands that have
Dealt harshly with us,
Nails that have dug deep into our flesh,
Scratched and bruised us
Teaching us the value of thick skin.
It is unreasonable to expect a life
Devoid of pain-
One that only has gentle hands.
We are who we are today
Not just because of the hands we were dealt
But because of what we did with what we got.

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